


Respite

by thelookyouredoingthelookagain



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Accident, Apart, Explicit Sexual Content, John helps, Kissing, M/M, Rest, Series 1-ish, Sherlock's Memory, Touching, cottage, sherlock makes a mistake, sneaky, together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-01
Updated: 2018-09-01
Packaged: 2019-07-05 16:44:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 12,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15867639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelookyouredoingthelookagain/pseuds/thelookyouredoingthelookagain
Summary: After making a mistake, Sherlock is sent off for some much needed respite, where he learns that comfort can no longer be found when he’s on his own.





	1. The Hospital

**Author's Note:**

> All works here were produced by two friends in the fandom. One writes as SH and one as John, and we edit together. Our characters are based on the BBC's _Sherlock_ , though we don't mind playing a little loosely with canon and the occasional AU. We have whims and like to follow them. While we like to torture our boys with constant misunderstandings, we know they belong together and we always see to that.
> 
> All posted works are complete, and we hope there will be something for everyone. We've got quite a few stories, and we invite you to get lost in them. **To keep up with our new stories, please subscribe.**
> 
> We also really appreciate the kudos and comments. They mean a lot -- sometimes they inspire new ideas and works, sometimes they just make us feel all warm inside. If you've got any story ideas, please leave them in the comments.
> 
> Thanks for reading and for being a great community!

Sherlock slowly opened his eyes. Everything seemed very bright. He closed them again.

He wasn’t sure where he was.

He took a slow, deep inhale and tried to think. The air smelled distinct, and the breath hurt his body. There were not good signs.

He opened his eyes again. He saw Mycroft’s face.

“Oh, god,” Sherlock said. “The hospital?” he asked, though it wasn’t really a question.

“What do you remember?” Mycroft asked.

Sherlock lifted his hand to his head. “Nothing . . . yet,” he admitted.

“You had an accident,” Mycroft said. “Your fault, obviously, but quite serious. You fell -- through a floor. Very careless.”

Sherlock took a deep breath and realised his whole body felt bruised. “Any fractures?” he asked.

“No,” Mycroft said. “Incredibly. But you’re . . . hurt. That’s why you’re still here.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re hurt -- you’ve hurt yourself,” Mycroft said. “And I know you can’t be trusted to let yourself heal. However, you can’t stay here indefinitely. So I’m afraid I’m going to have to send you away for a bit.”

Sherlock lifted his hand to his head again. He tried to remember what had caused the fall. “Rehab?” he asked.

Mycroft sharply turned his head. “Have you a need for rehab?” he asked suspiciously.

“No,” Sherlock said. “I don’t think so.”

Mycroft could see his brother really did not remember anything about the day of the accident. “You were working when it happened,” Mycroft said. “I should hope your brain was at its best. No, Sherlock, you are not going to rehab -- well, not that kind of rehab. You’ve been prescribed rest, relaxation, respite. Well, respite for me at least. No work until you’re well.”

“You can’t imprison me, force me to stay where I don’t want to be.”

“No, I cannot,” Mycroft said. “However, I know that you appreciate cleverness -- I know you see the value in logic. Until yours recovers, I know you’ll follow my guidance.”

“Where’s John?” Sherlock suddenly asked.

“Why?” Mycroft responded.

“I need to speak with him,” Sherlock said.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Mycroft said. “I said no work -- or have you forgotten already?”

“John’s not work,” Sherlock said. “Not just work, I mean.” He thought for a moment. “If I’m not going back to the flat, I need to tell him a few things -- flat-related things.”

Mycroft thought for a moment. “All right,” he finally said to his brother. “But I feel I should be here as well. To make sure he fully understands the situation.” He reached for his phone and sent a quick text.

John was pacing in the lobby, two of Mycroft's men keeping him out of the hall. "I need to see Sherlock," he said for the hundredth time. They simply stood there. He growled in frustration, eyeing the men and considering fighting his way through, but the other people in the hospital didn't need that drama. 

Finally, both men moved out of his way. "Bloody goons," John muttered as he stormed passed them. He found Sherlock's room and came inside. He sighed with only a small bit of relief. "You're awake. Are you okay?" he asked, coming close to examine him. 

"No, obviously he is not okay," Mycroft said.

"Are you all right?" Sherlock asked John.

"I'm fine. I'm not the one in the hospital," he said. "What have they said?"

“They’ve said nothing to me, just to him apparently,” Sherlock said. “Would you go speak to them?” He glanced over at his brother. “John’s a doctor -- I’d like his opinion,” he explained.

Mycroft waved his hand. “This is not my doing, Sherlock -- it’s the hospital’s recommendation,” he said. “I’m sure once Dr Watson sees the situation, he will agree with their findings.”

"I'll find out what's going on," John said. He went back out into the hall and found the nurse. "Can you tell me what is happening with my friend, Sherlock Holmes?"

"I'm sorry, sir, but we can only share that information with family."

"I'm his doctor. His primary," he said. "Dr John Watson, I should be listed in his file."

The nurse looked back at the computer and clicked a few times. "Oh. Well, can I see ID please? We take the privacy of our patients --"

"Yeah, I know," John said. He took out his wallet and showed her. 

"Okay. Well, he's mostly bruised up. His body needs to rest and heal. Also his blood pressure is elevated, most likely because of the pain he's in. We'll keep him overnight with the stronger medication, but then he should be able to go home with oral pain medicine. He needs to rest, though."

John nodded. "Okay, right," he said. "Mycroft didn't pay you off, right?" he asked. 

"Excuse me?" 

"Nothing, never mind. Thank you," he said. He went back to the room. "Can I take a look at you?"

Mycroft stood up and moved over to the bed to oversee. 

“You mean my body?” Sherlock asked. “You can look at whatever you need, I guess.” He shifted a little and winced in pain.

John carefully opened the gown and barely held down the curse. "You've got to be more careful --" He stopped as Sherlock's gaze cut to Mycroft. Right. He'd been lectured already. He tied the gown again and stepped back. "They're right. You have to rest so this bruising can heal. The colours . . . well, they're probably deep so it'll be good not to stress them too much," he added. 

“Traitor,” Sherlock mumbled. “Fine, Mycroft, you got your way. Where am I going?”

“The cottage,” Mycroft said.

“That’s too far away --” Sherlock started.

“That’s the point,” Mycroft interrupted. “You need to be away from all . . . this,” he added, glancing at John.

“Will Mother be there?” Sherlock asked.

“No, you’re not a child.”

“So you’ll be standing guard the whole time?” 

“Obviously not. I have things to do,” Mycroft said. “Besides, the doctor said no stress and I recognise that for some reason I fail to understand, my presence occasionally causes you stress.”

Sherlock humphed. He knew pouting was useless, but it was his standard reaction.

“As soon as we know you can move around safely, you’ll go -- on your own. To rest,” Mycroft stated. He looked at John for back up. 

Sherlock also looked at John.

John bit his lip. "You'll be back before you know it," he said. 

“Listen to Dr Watson,” Mycroft said. “You’ve said before that you trust him, now is the time to behave that way.”

Sherlock didn’t say anything to either of them.

“You’ll be here at least one more night,” Mycroft continued. “I’ve got to leave now. Since John is here, I’m sure he can keep you entertained. Shall I go to the flat to get some things for you for your trip?”

Sherlock shot him a look. “Don’t,” he said. “I’ll make a list for John . . . he can bring them here tomorrow,” he said defeatedly.

“Fine,” Mycroft said. “Goodbye, gentlemen.” 

"You know, I really don't like him," John said after the door closed behind Mycroft. 

“Do you really think this is necessary?” Sherlock asked. “It all seems a bit stupid.”

"Well, you definitely need to rest," he said. "And the flat can be really distracting for you, so it’s not an awful idea," he said. 

“The flat’s not distracting,” Sherlock said angrily. Then he decided to try a different strategy. “You can watch over me,” he said. “I’ll be good, and if I’m not, I’ve seen you, you can be horrible, you’ll keep me in line.”

John raised his brows. "Well, as tempting as that sounds I have to go to work still and I can't be at home all the time," he said. 

“Fine -- abandon me,” Sherlock said. “I took you in and at the first chance you turn me out. I understand.”

"Please don't be so dramatic," John said. 

“Everyone else is acting overly dramatic,” Sherlock mumbled. “I thought I’d try it to see what it’s like.”

John grinned. "Give me your list so I can go pack your bag," he said. "And next time, try and actually be careful so you don't have to be 'abandoned.’"

Sherlock began to list the things he could think he might need. In truth, his head was still a little fuzzy, and his body did hurt. After a few minutes, he said, “And whatever else you think I might need.” He took a sip of water and then added, “I trust when you enter my room you’ll use discretion. I will not need anything from my desk drawers, so obviously there will be no reason for you to look in there.”

"Well, now I have to look, on principle," John teased. 

“Don’t, John,” Sherlock said seriously. “I trust you now -- I don’t trust anyone else. Don’t make me worry, all right?”

"Alright, alright, relax," John said. "I'll see you tomorrow."

“We can still speak -- you can call,” Sherlock said quickly, hearing more desperation in his voice than he’d expected. “Later, I mean. So I can let you know what the doctor says. And while I’m away, I mean.”

"Of course," John said. "I'll tell you what -- I’ll bring your stuff here this evening and see how you’re feeling then, okay?"

“Yes,” Sherlock said. He shifted down the bed a little. “I think I’ll sleep for a while.” His eyelids felt heavier than they had in a long time.

John moved out of the room quietly and left to go back to their flat. He felt immensely more relieved now that he had seen Sherlock in person. He headed home and packed everything Sherlock had on the list, as well as throwing in a few extra things he thought would help Sherlock keep busy. When he was in Sherlock's room, he couldn't help looking in the drawers, but one just had extra cigarettes and the other was just notes on John from the day Sherlock tested a mild poison on him that made him lose a whole day. For that reminder John threw out the cigarettes.

When he finished packing everything, he went down to let Mrs. Hudson know what was happening. Later on, he slipped the bag over his shoulder and left the flat. 

Sherlock had fallen to sleep before John was even out of the hospital and slept solid until he walked back into the room. However, as soon as he saw John, he felt compelled to lie. “I was reading,” he said. “I guess I dozed off.” It was at this point he realised there was no book there, so he admitted, “I’ve been sleeping since you left.”

"Sherlock, it’s okay to sleep and rest," John said. 

“Fine,” Sherlock said, pushing himself up on the bed. “I’ve rested -- surely that means I’m ready to go home.”

"Sherlock, I thought we all agreed you'd behave so you can get better?" John said. 

“I’m not a child -- stop talking to me like one,” Sherlock said angrily. He lifted his hand to his head and rubbed it lightly. “Since the minute I got here, everyone’s been treating me like a child, and I’m sick of it.”

"I know you're not a child, Sherlock. We're just worried." He lifted the bag onto the bed. "I brought all of your things, and I threw out your cigarettes," he added. 

“Right,” Sherlock said, reaching for the bag. “No better way to convince me you don’t treat me like a child than to throw away my things. . .” he added as he began to look through the bag.

"Only the bad things," John said.

“Maybe you could let me decide what’s good and what’s bad for me,” Sherlock mumbled. “You didn’t bring my book,” he added grumpily, pushing the bag away from him.

John sighed, "I'll bring it another time.”

“Whatever,” Sherlock said. He shifted on the bed away from John a little. “I’m going to hate this, aren’t I?”

"Yes, but hopefully it'll go by quickly and you'll be home before you know it."

“You’ll probably love it,” Sherlock said. “You’ll be in charge of the flat and won’t have to shout at me all the time. . .”

"Yes, quite the holiday," John smiled.

Sherlock turned over. “Are you and my brother in on this, then? What did the doctor really say? Why isn’t anyone talking to me?” he asked.

"Sherlock, we're not in on anything. You're hurt and you need to rest and heal. I'm sorry you don't like it, but that's how it has to be."

“I want to talk to the doctor,” Sherlock said. “I’m an adult -- neither you nor Mycroft are my guardians, for god’s sake. I’m not a child.”

"No one is stopping you from doing that, Sherlock."

“Well . . . call him in or something.”

"They round in the morning, Sherlock. You'll have to wait until then."

“This is ridiculous,” Sherlock muttered. He looked over at John. “Well, sit down or something, you’re annoying me just standing there.”

John sat in the chair beside the bed. "Don't be grumpy with me," he said. 

Sherlock ignored the comment. “Is something wrong? I mean, is my brain not working and that’s why I can’t remember things and why no one will let me speak to the doctor?” he asked.

"Sherlock, I just told you they round in the morning," he said. "I mean, they can get a resident in here if you really want to talk to someone, but it’s just going to be some kid who looks at your chart just before he walks in. Do you want the resident?"

“Have you seen the charts or are you just going on whatever the doctor said?”

"I'm going off of looking at you," he said.

“I’m supposed to trust that?”

"Do you trust me?" John asked, looking over at him. 

Sherlock glanced over and then looked away. “You know I do,” he said. “But what about cases?”

"We'll take a break for a bit until you feel better."

“I feel fine,” Sherlock said. He moved his legs to try to get out of bed. He winced and lay back, squeezing his eyes closed. “I’ll be better tomorrow.”

"Sherlock, it’s going to take time," he said. "You just have to be patient."

Sherlock pulled the blanket up over him. “Patience is not really my thing,” he said, softening his voice. 

“Do you really not remember anything?” John asked, trying not to sound too worried.

“I don’t know . . . Is that a bad sign?”

“We’ll see tomorrow,” John said. “Are you in pain?”

Sherlock shook his head a little. “I’m tired, I think,” he mumbled.

"I'll go," John said. "You get some rest, okay?"

But Sherlock was already asleep.


	2. The Cottage

When Sherlock opened his eyes, it was morning. So his first thought was a good one -- morning meant it was time for him to leave. However, his second thought was not a good as he remembered he was being sent away to rest. It was so stupid.

However, it worried him that, even for a moment, he’d forgotten what would be happening today. He still didn’t remember the accident. He didn’t like not remembering.

He reached for the small cupboard next to the bed, digging around for his phone. He hadn’t looked at it for at least 24 hours, assuming yesterday was his first day at the hospital, which in truth he wasn’t quite sure of. However, he couldn’t find it. He leaned back against the pillow again.

Eventually, he got himself up from the bed to go into the bathroom. He definitely felt better today -- his body still felt a bit fragile, but he felt confident moving around now. He washed his face and brushed his teeth and then went back to the bed. He tried to go into his head to concentrate on finding the memory of the accident.

“You seem brighter,” a nurse said when she came in. “I suppose this means you’ll soon be leaving us.”

Sherlock nodded, even giving her a small smile. 

After checking his vitals, she said, “Your brother wanted me to ring him when you woke up -- shall I do that now or would you like a little more peace before he arrives?” 

Now Sherlock gave her a full smile. “Thanks,” he said. “But the sooner he comes, the sooner I leave, and the sooner he leaves me alone.”

“Fair enough,” she said. “I’ll give him a call.”

John finished his short shift at the surgery and headed straight to the hospital to see Sherlock. Only when he was just outside the room did he realise he'd forgot the book Sherlock had wanted. He knocked and walked inside. "Sherlock?"

“Finally,” Sherlock said as he came out of the bathroom. “See? I can go to the toilet myself -- I don’t know why I need to be under house arrest.” He slowly climbed back onto the bed, but decided not to lift up his legs. He turned a little to face the chair as John sat down. “So you were at work?”

John nodded. "Yeah, I went to work for a bit this morning. I’m glad to see you're up and walking around," he said. 

“In other words, fine -- I’m fine,” Sherlock said. “I’m better than yesterday and thus I’m more confident this idea of going away is even more ridiculous than I was then. I think I should just come home. I can ‘relax’ there.”

"I think it'll be good to go relax and properly heal."

Sherlock humphed but then looked over and, in a softer tone, asked, “If I hate it, will you talk to him? Use your doctor language to tell him I can come home?”

"I will. You may not believe this, but I do like having you at home," he said. 

Sherlock gave John a small smile. Then his face changed. “He’s here,” he said.

A few moments later, Mycroft came in. “You’re ready, I see,” he said. He looked at John. “You’re not coming, you know.”

John rolled his eyes. "I know, but I'm allowed to visit," he said. He looked at Sherlock. "I forgot your book, but I'll bring it by later."

“There are books at the cottage, I’m sure he can find one to read there,” Mycroft said. “He’s taking a break from work and you, I’m afraid, represent work.”

Sherlock glanced at John. “That’s fine, John,” he said calmly. “I don’t need the book. I’m taking a break.”

John looked at Sherlock for a long moment before nodding. "Okay. So . . . I'll see you when you get back," he said. 

“Right,” Sherlock said, giving him a little wink as he turned away to get his bag. “Let’s go,” he said to his brother. “Where’s the wheelchair?”

“Very humorous,” Mycroft said. “I can see by your face that your body still hurts you. Obviously it’s been injured and will recover soon enough. That’s not what this rest is about. You are taking a short break to rest your brain, let your brain recover. I remember a time when you promised me that you’d look after your brain -- I remember you’re telling me you’d never take risks with your mind again. Do you remember that?”

“All right, all right,” Sherlock said. “We don’t need to go into all that. I’m going, aren’t I?”

“Fine,” Mycroft said. “Dr Watson, I’ll be in touch -- when Sherlock’s able to function clearly without making stupid decisions that lead to injury, I will bring him back to the flat.”

Sherlock made a face at John as they moved to leave.

John smiled at Sherlock as he followed them out of the hospital room. He doubted Mycroft was going to tell him exactly where Sherlock was going, but he was sure Sherlock would call to let him know. 

In the car, Sherlock leaned his head on the window’s glass and closed his eyes. In truth, he still felt tired -- his body and his brain. He needed to find that memory. He knew he was blocking it, which likely meant it was his own fault. That was what he was going to do on this stupid ‘break’: rest himself until he was able to remember and not make the same mistake again.

He opened his eyes again as they pulled into the cottage drive. He hadn’t been there for years, but he recognised it from the many weeks he’d spent there as a child. He grabbed his bag and followed Mycroft who unlocked the door. His mother had changed a few things, but it still felt the same inside.

“You’re not trapped here,” Mycroft said. “You’re an adult, you can make your own choices. I’m sure that -- as an adult -- you realise that a short rest away from work is exactly what you need and thus will choose to stay.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “I’m well enough to recognise manipulation,” he mumbled.

“Yes, well, I’m glad we’re clear on the goal here,” Mycroft said. “I suggest you get some sleep and avoid stress until your head is clearer.”

“Fine,” Sherlock said. “And I suppose once I decide I’m clear, I’m free to go?”

“Of course,” Mycroft said. “Though I’m available to offer a second opinion.” He looked around. “Well, you have everything you need here -- .” He moved to the door. “About John Watson -- he is a reminder of work so I think a break from him will also be beneficial.”

“Right,” Sherlock said. “You made that clear.” 

“Right, good,” Mycroft said. He turned to leave.

“Wait,” Sherlock said. “I need my phone -- have you got it?”

“I’m afraid not,” Mycroft said. “Perhaps you lost it while you were out making foolish decisions.”

Sherlock looked over at his brother, not sure if the phone was in his possession or not. Why did Mycroft have to play games all the time? 

“If there’s nothing else, I’ll leave you.”

“Goodbye,” Sherlock said. A second later, he was on his own.


	3. Visit Denied

John had left the hospital with them and watched them get into Mycroft's car. Sherlock had accepted things too easily, so he was sure there had to be some kind of plan stewing in his head. He just had to go back home and wait for a phone call or a message or something -- if Sherlock planned on including him in his escape plan, which he was pretty certain he would.

Sherlock put the cottage key on his ring and slid it into his pocket. He left, walking down to the small high street, and bought a few packets of cigarettes, some milk, all the newspapers, and a cheap phone. He smoked a cigarette on the way back, going in and making himself a cup of tea. He took it and his purchases out to the small table in the back garden.

_It’s me. SH_

_You're going to get in trouble. -JW_

John smiled as he sent the message. He was relieved Sherlock had been up to something.

_Are you going to tell on me? SH_

_I would never. -JW_

_I’m bored. SH_

_I knew you would be. Where did he take you? -JW_

_My parents’ cottage outside the city. No bars on the windows. What are you doing? SH_

_Nothing. I'm trying to find something for dinner. -JW_

_Did you read about the art gallery robbery? SH_

_I heard about it. You shouldn't be reading about it, though. -JW_

_What else am I supposed to do? SH_

_Are there a lot of books like he said? -JW_

_Probably, but I couldn’t be bothered to look. I’m reading the papers because I want to know what’s going on in the world. Are you telling me that that’s wrong? SH_

_You know you shouldn't be thinking about work. -JW_

_I’m not thinking about work, just the world. That said, perhaps you should give Lestrade a call? SH_

_I don't think so. I don't want Mycroft to murder me. When can I come see you? -JW_

_You’re allowed to work, just not me. If you’re going to just let our business go to rot and ruin, though, you should come see me soon and take me home. Remember that I’ll be able to tell if you’ve been through my things, so don’t. SH_

_You keep daring me to go through your things. -JW_

_Not daring. Warning. SH_

_Am I going to be murdered if I come up there? You know I'm not allowed. -JW_

_Don’t worry. I’ll protect you. I don’t really understand why I’m here, what he’s trying to prove, but I’m apparently not a hostage so I don’t see why you can’t come for a visit. SH_

_I'm a distraction, remember? Send me the address and I'll come with your book. -JW_

Sherlock typed in the address and sent it.

_Taxi’s on me. SH_

_So gallant. See you soon. -JW_

John packed up a couple things with the book, grabbed his wallet, and left the flat. He got into a taxi and gave the address. 

Sherlock scooped the cigarette butts into his hand and took them into the bin. He carried his bag into the bedroom and then went into the bathroom to wash his face. In truth, he wasn’t even sure what book John was bringing, but he’d be glad to see him. Hopefully, it would feel a little more normal.

John looked out of the window as the car drove along, but they were just circling the city. John checked the address. "Um, do you know where you're going?" John asked. The driver didn't reply. Ten minutes later, they were back outside of 221 and Mycroft was on the pavement.

"Bloody hell," John sighed, getting out to face him.

"Did you not understand me before? Sherlock is not available for work. You are work, so he will not be around you. I suppose I’ll have to take the phone he's inevitably bought himself and have yet another little talk with him."

John stared at him. "He's not a toddler. And I was not bringing work. I was just going to visit."

"I'll care for my brother how I see fit. And you are synonymous with work for him--you get him worked up. He needs rest -- as his colleague, you want his brain at its best, correct?”

“Obviously, but he seemed much better.”

“He’s not,” Mycroft said in a way that piqued John’s curiosity.

“Is something else going on?”

“He can’t remember the accident,” Mycroft said. “As you well know, he remembers everything unless he’s got a reason to forget it. I don’t know if he’s deleted what happened or if he honestly can’t recall, but either way, he needs to concentrate. You will see him when he returns home." He moved around John and got into the cab. 

Sherlock waited and then put the kettle on for tea. He reached into the cupboard and pulled out the two mugs he and Mycroft had used when they were small. He found himself smiling a little.

Eventually he made himself a cup of tea. When he heard a car outside, he got up. The door opened and Mycroft came in.

“Nice try,” Mycroft said. “One day? I can’t trust you for one day?”

“He was bringing me a book!” Sherlock pouted.

“Stop it now,” Mycroft said. “This is for you own good.” He glanced over at the table. “The newspapers? Sherlock, please -- you were injured . . . you need your memory sharp.”

Sherlock looked up quickly. Of course, his brother knew he couldn’t remember. It was like he could see into Sherlock’s head.

“You’re supposed to be resting,” Mycroft said. “That’s all this is.”

“No, it isn’t -- it can’t be,” Sherlock said.

“It is,” Mycroft said. “Call Mother -- it was her suggestion.”

Sherlock looked over. “He was just bringing a book,” he repeated.

Mycroft sighed. “Give me the phone,” he said.

“No,” Sherlock said.

“Sherlock --”

“No, Mycroft -- what if I need to call someone? What if it’s an emergency or what if I want to call you? If you take this phone, I will go out and buy another one. If I’m not a prisoner, stop treating me like one.”

Mycroft sighed and looked over. “I’m worried about you,” he said seriously.

Sherlock heard the change in his voice. “I’m all right,” he said. “It was a mistake -- just a stupid mistake.”

“You remember?”

“Some . . .” Sherlock lied.

“You didn’t used to make stupid mistakes before . . .”

“Before what? Before John?” Sherlock asked. “John helps me.”

“He’s changed you -- you’ve changed,” Mycroft said. “Do you deny that?”

Sherlock didn’t respond because he wasn’t sure about the answer.

“Rest is what you need -- the doctor said it, even Doctor Watson said it. A few days without work and he is part of your work so please, just take a break. Do you want Mother to come stay with you?” 

“Is that a threat?” Sherlock said. “No, I can be by myself . . . . will you please then just let me be by myself? I’ll rest, I will . . . I’ll remember.  Just leave me alone, all right?”

“We’ll see. You’ve not given me much reason to trust you.”

“Maybe my behaviour was just because of the injury.”

“Sherlock, don’t make jokes,” Mycroft said.

“Your hassling me is not restful,” Sherlock said.

“You are such a child,” Mycroft said. “I’m busy. Be good and in a few days, you’ll get checked by a doctor and you can go home.”

“I’m going out for a cigarette,” Sherlock said. “Lock the door on your way out.”

He went outside and listened for the car which eventually left. He finished his cigarette and went in and grabbed the phone.

_No visit today, but we’ll figure something out for tomorrow. SH_

Sherlock got up from the chair and carried his phone into the bigger bedroom. He lay down on the bed, but it seemed strange -- it felt like his parents’ bed. So he got up and moved into the smaller room, lying down on the twin bed he used to sleep in. Within a few minutes, he was asleep.


	4. Texting The Day Away

When Sherlock woke up, he was confused for a moment. It had got dark and he didn’t recognise the room. But then he remembered. He got up, went to the toilet, closed all the curtains and made a cup of tea, going outside for a cigarette while he waited for the kettle to boil. Once his tea was made, he carried it to the sofa and got out his phone.

_What are you doing? SH_

_Watching a movie. And having a drink. How do you feel? -JW_

_Still bored. I feel like I might as well just go back to sleep. That’s unusual. SH_

_Well, you are supposed to be resting so if you feel like sleeping more than usual it’s okay. Are you still hurting a lot? -JW_

Sherlock wasn’t sure he wanted to answer that question, so he decided to dodge it.

_Don’t try to be all doctor-like with me, John Watson. SH_

_How else am I supposed to be, as your doctor? -JW_

_You’re my doctor now? Colleague, flatmate, friend, and doctor? SH_

_I'm a renaissance man. I'm whatever you need. -JW_

_Are you implying you know what I need? SH_

_Of course I do. Look how qualified I am. -JW_

_Care to enlighten me then? SH_

_You need rest. And proper caring for. -JW_

_I’ve never needed proper caring for -- an outrageous suggestion. SH_

_Okay, sure. I'll remind you of that next time you want tea. -JW_

_I’ve made my own tea tonight. But it doesn’t taste as good as yours. SH_

_See? You need to be taken care of. I was right. -JW_

_Possibly. SH_

Sherlock took a sip of tea and thought for a moment.

_He says you’ve changed me. Do you think that’s true? SH_

_I don't know. I didn't know you before, but you seem too stubborn to change just because of me. -JW_

_I am not stubborn. I’ve just right most of the time. SH_

John wondered what Mycroft and Sherlock had talked about.

_So do you think you've changed? -JW_

_I don’t know._

Sherlock typed the words and then stared at them. In a way, it was a lie -- he knew he had changed. Some changes were due to John obviously; living with someone changes the way one lives their life. It was practical. However, there were other changes as well. He hit delete and instead wrote:

_I think I have. SH_

_Well, I was hoping to prove Mycroft wrong. How do you think you've changed? -JW_

That was the bit Sherlock hadn’t quite figured out yet.

_I am 1000 times more patient than I was. I have to be. You’re intolerable, yet I have had to figure out a way to live with you. SH_

_Hmm. If you're going to be like that I'm not going to text or visit. -JW_

_Childish. Just proving my point. SH_

_You're being mean. It’s not my fault if Mycroft is right. -JW_

Sherlock thought again for a moment.

_Do you feel like you’ve changed since we met? SH_

_You know I have. My changes are physical, more obvious. -JW_

_You’re shorter? SH_

_Hilarious. You know I can walk without pain. I'm eating proper meals again. I'm better. -JW_

Sherlock smiled at John’s text.

_You’re maybe a little less intolerable as well. SH_

_You're still being a bit mean. -JW_

_I thought you liked it. You always seem to respond. That’s the only reason I do it. SH_

_I don't think that's true. -JW_

_It is. Normally, I’m a quite lovely person, but you seemed to like the cruel Sherlock so I stuck with it. SH_

Sherlock smiled at his reply -- it was rather silly, but at least he was no longer bored.

_Well, I would like to meet this nice Sherlock you keep talking about. -JW_

_He’s here now. Charming fellow. Too bad you got caught and can’t be here. SH_

_Hmm. We'll have to be sneakier next time. -JW_

_He’s maddening. I don’t know why I fell but it had nothing to do with you, so why is he insisting on us being apart? I don’t understand his games. SH_

_You don’t remember at all? -JW_

_I’m fine. SH_

John knew the lack of a direct answer meant Sherlock still couldn’t remember. He changed the subject.

_Your brother just likes controlling you. -JW_

_Much like you, you mean? SH_

_I don't think I'm going to text you anymore tonight. -JW_

_Don’t be a baby. You must admit you like being in charge of things. Most of the time you do it quite well. (That’s a compliment, and you know I don’t give those away easily.) SH_

_You can say that again. The compliment thing, not the slander about me controlling things. -JW_

_If you wanted more compliments, you could have just asked. You make an excellent cup of tea. Many of your meals taste nice. You have attractive hair. Your jumpers are always colourful. See how lovely I can be? SH_

_Hmm. I suppose that’s better. -JW_

_I realise giving compliments is not my field of expertise, but I believe it’s polite to return them when you receive them. SH_

_You're really putting me on the spot. I'll have to get back to you on that. -JW_

_That hurts. SH_

_It was just a little payback. I'm sorry. -JW_

_I’m still waiting for a compliment. SH_

_You're fun to tease. -JW_

_Somehow I don’t feel flattered by that. SH_

_You're also very smart. -JW_

_That’s better. Why don’t you like my hair? SH_

_When did I say I didn't? -JW_

_I’m just wondering why you didn’t compliment mine, after I complimented yours. But you said nothing. That hurts. SH_

_You have great hair. -JW_

_That’s better. See? It’s not so difficult to show a little kindness. I’m always telling you that. SH_

_I just rolled my eyes so hard they might be stuck. -JW_

Sherlock got up and made another cup of tea and then went to the bathroom. He decided to get into the bed despite it being ridiculously early. This time he crawled into the bed that Mycroft used to sleep in.

_I’m asleep now. Stop bothering me. SH_

_Right. Get some rest. -JW_

John put his phone down and got up to get ready for bed.

_Well, now I’m awake thanks to your text. SH_

When no message came through, Sherlock sent another.

_I’m gone for one day and already you’ve forgotten me? SH_

And then another.

_Are you having a party there? SH_

And then.

_You always leave me out of your fun. SH_

_I feel another fall coming on. As my doctor, you have a responsibility to help. SH_

And finally.

_Give me your attention, please. SH_

John smiled around his brush as he heard the phone going off over and over. He came back to it.

_Sorry I didn't want to wake you. There's no party, not with the life of it gone. -JW_

_What are you doing? SH_

_Getting ready for bed. -JW_

_I’m already in bed. You drove me to it. SH_

_You're driving me to it right now. -JW_

_I meant it as another compliment. At the moment, I’m actually enjoying being in bed. SH_

_Good. Hopefully you can rest tonight. -JW_

_Will one night of rest be enough to get me back home, do you think? SH_

_Knowing Mycroft, I don't think so. -JW_

_What’s the point then? Maybe I should get up and go out. SH_

_Don't get up and go because he's crazy enough to lock you up somewhere. Just be patient and I'll sneak over. -JW_

_I wish you could come now. SH_

Sherlock sent it before he’d really thought about it. It was honest, but now he wondered if it was too strange. He knew he was behaving a bit unusually -- whether it was the result of the injury or being away from home, he wasn’t sure.

John sat down on the edge of his bed and sighed softly. 

_Me too. But if you go to sleep, it'll be tomorrow faster and I'll come up. -JW_

_Hmm...still enjoying being in charge, I see. All right. I’ll talk to you in the morning. Thanks for keeping me company. SH_

_Anytime. Good night, Sherlock. -JW_

Sherlock lay flat on his back and stared up at the ceiling. He still wasn’t happy about being trapped out here, but tonight hadn’t been horrible really, especially after texting with John. Things felt different, though, and he still felt uneasy. Was it just because he and John were apart?

Another difference: they hadn’t been talking about work. Had Mycroft been right? Sherlock didn’t believe his brother’s orders were really been about working -- Mycroft Holmes would never discourage work. Was this whole thing just about separating John and Sherlock?

He turned over on the bed. He’d think more about this tomorrow. In truth, he was sleepy. Another unusual thing, but he’d mentioned it to John who didn’t seem worried, so right now, Sherlock decided not to worry. He decided to sleep.


	5. Visit Success

When Sherlock opened his eyes, he saw the familiar pattern on the curtains. He knew where he was. He got up and made himself a cup of tea and took it and his phone outside. He had some calls to make.

John woke up with his phone stuck to his cheek. He forgot he'd fallen asleep with it. He checked for messages and saw none so he plugged it in to charge while he took a shower and got ready for work. He grabbed it after he got dressed but didn't send a message -- if Sherlock was sleeping he didn't want to wake him. He took his charger to work with him and started seeing patients, keeping on eye out for messages between them. He needed to figure out how he was going to sneak out to see Sherlock when Mycroft had control of every camera in the city. 

_Library at 5pm. SH_

John looked at his phone and furrowed his brow. 

_You can't leave. I'll come to you. -JW_

Sherlock rolled his eyes.

_You’re not in charge of this. I am. Be there. SH_

_All right. -JW_

John left his phone there to get his next patient. He didn't think Sherlock was going to be able to leave, but there was no use fighting.

Sherlock smiled to himself. He smoked a cigarette and then went in to take a shower.

John kept checking for messages between patients, but nothing came through. He half expected something from Mycroft but he was staying quiet as well. It was only 3:30 when John finished with his patients so he stayed over to work on charts and paperwork, watching the time. He was closer to the library here anyway, and if Mycroft was going to be putting a stop to this visit, he didn't want to be running all over. 

An hour later he left the surgery and started walking, making his way towards the library. He made sure not to look at too many cameras on his way, but he knew that didn't matter. He also knew that Sherlock would be even more careful than him, though he wasn't very comfortable with Sherlock traveling around with his bruises. Maybe Mycroft was right . . . but John definitely wouldn't say that to Sherlock. 

As he entered the building, a man bumped into him. “Doctor Watson?” 

John looked up at the man, then squinted. "Um, yes," he said. 

“I think your ride’s here,” the man said. “The black cab out front.”

John looked at him closely before looking outside. He turned slowly and walked out of the library again. A car across the street flashed its lights. John's stomach sank. Mycroft. He considered walking away, but he knew he'd only be followed. He walked to the cab and opened the back door, getting in with a sigh. 

The man acknowledged John and then pulled away from the kerb. “Sherlock told me to tell you to stop worrying,” he said.

John looked at the driver. "Do you know Mycroft?"

“Never had the pleasure,” the driver said. “But you needn’t worry about him. Sherlock’s taken care of that.”

"Right," John said. He leaned back and looked out of the window. 

Sherlock checked his watch and then put the kettle on. He hadn’t heard anything from anyone so assumed things were going to plan. 

After a while, the driver said, “We’re almost there. Sherlock said you’d have forty quid for me.”

"Of course he did," he said. He fished out his wallet and paid the driver. He got out of the car and looked up at a small cottage. He started walking up to it slowly. He couldn't help feeling this was still some kind of trap.

Sherlock opened the door. “You made it,” he said, waving to the driver who was already backing out. “Come in to my lovely little prison.”

John relaxed when he saw Sherlock. "It’s nice," he said as he came inside. 

“It is actually,” Sherlock said. “Come into the kitchen, I made us tea.” They walked in and Sherlock poured two mugs and then sat down on the table. “I assume you weren’t followed.”

"Well, you set it all up so you tell me," he teased. 

“You didn’t give the driver any money, did you?”

“He said you said to give him forty pounds,” John said, groaning when he saw Sherlock shaking his head. "To be honest, I thought for sure that car was going to be Mycroft. Does he know about this visit? He'll lock me up next."

“I’ve been texting him every hour, making a case for why I needed to go home. He’s been too busy being annoyed by me to worry about you,” Sherlock said. “I think what’s been proven is that, even when injured, I’m smarter than him.”

John rolled his eyes but smiled. "And what do we do when he shows up here?"

“He won’t,” Sherlock said. He opened his text messages and turned his phone to show John.

_I’ll be unreachable for the rest of the night. Try to grow up before we speak tomorrow. MH_

John read the message and nodded. "Alright. I'll relax," he promised. 

“That’s all we do here,” Sherlock said. “Let me show you around.” He got up and led John around. “I’ve been sleeping in here,” he said, motioning to the smaller room with two single beds.

"Did you and Mycroft share this room?" he asked. 

Sherlock nodded. “I’m sleeping in his bed, just to annoy him,” he said, heading back to the kitchen. “Which I suppose means I’ve not yet grown up.” He opened the back door and motioned for John to sit down at the table with him. He lit up a cigarette. “It is quite calm here -- I thought I’d hate it more, but I think I can tolerate it now that you’re with me.” He felt his cheeks flush from such obvious sentiment.

John looked over at him, slightly surprised. "Do you feel a little better? Can I see your bruising?"

“In all honesty, I still feel a bit tired,” Sherlock said. There was no point in lying. “You can look at me after dinner.”

"Okay. Are you telling me that you're cooking?"

“Perhaps,” Sherlock said, taking a long drag on his cigarette. “Not quite cooking, but it’ll be edible.”

"I see. So I should get my affairs in order?" he teased. 

“Don’t worry -- I’ve already sorted all that for you,” Sherlock said. “Your jumpers will donated for medical research.” He laughed at himself a little.

John rolled his eyes. "Say whatever you want, they are comfortable."

Sherlock looked him over. “Sure they are,” he said. “So how was the surgery today?”

"Busy," John said. "Mostly boring stuff, though."

“Busy sounds good,” Sherlock said. “Today here was . . . definitely not busy.” He got up. “Let’s go in and I’ll get dinner. Have we had any leads for cases?”

"Don't you try and get me into even more trouble," John said. "Let's talk about what you made for dinner."

“Well, it’s just salad but I got you some biscuits and ice cream for dessert,” Sherlock said. He pulled some things out of the fridge and began mixing vegetables into a big bowl. “It’s all healthy, so don’t start nagging.”

"I wasn't going to nag you. I'm just glad you're eating something."

“This is the first thing I’ve eaten really,” Sherlock said. “But I knew you were coming so I wanted to have something.”

"How sweet of you," he said. 

Sherlock turned to focus on the salad. “Yes, well, I think sweetness might be a symptom of the fall so assume it’s temporary,” he said. “There’s wine as well -- will you pour it?”

John poured them each a glass. "Don't let it disappear too quickly now."

“You’re the one who wants me ‘cured’ and back to normal,” Sherlock said, bringing two bowls over to the table.

"Well, you could keep a couple things," he smiled. 

They started to eat. Eventually, Sherlock coughed a little and said, “I have learned something from all this.” He took a sip of wine before continuing. “You weren’t there with me that day . . . I know that’s my fault, I went out without telling or waiting for you to get back. But I know I act impulsively and -- let’s be honest -- most of the time, that’s what’s needed. I’m not planning on changing that because it’s often how I work best. But you’re not being there . . . if you’d been there, I doubt I’d have fallen.”

John watched him as he said all of this, taking a sip of his wine. "I know we're not going to be able to stop you from acting so rash, but you never know with some time. You're still not used to working with a partner. Maybe the more time we spend together the easier it'll be for you to tell me where you're going -- to wait for me."

“Firstly, don’t say ‘we’ to mean you and him. You and I are the only ‘we’ around here,” Sherlock said. “Secondly, I wish I had waited for you.”

"Sorry," John said, smiling at him. "But next time you will now. I hope."

“Having your eyes there would’ve really helped,” Sherlock admitted, taking a quick bite of salad. “It’s just . . . forget it.” He took a gulp of wine.

"What is it?" John asked. 

“I can’t remember . . . I remember the fall, but I know that right before I fell, I’d found something . . . but I can’t remember what.”

John tilted his head a bit. "Maybe you shouldn't be drinking with your pain medicine."

Sherlock shook his head. “I’ve not taken any . . . when I realised I couldn’t remember, I didn’t want to risk losing any more.”

"Still . . . maybe alcohol won't help. Does your head hurt? Your scans were clear . . ." 

“Nothing hurts -- I’m normal,” Sherlock said. “You know what I mean. Maybe I’m a little tired still, but otherwise I’m fine. One glass of wine isn’t going to make a difference.”

"I'm just worried maybe you hit your head or something and they didn't know." John moved close to him and held his chin, looking in his eyes. "Follow my finger."

“You follow your own finger,” Sherlock said, grabbing his hand and squeezing it before pushing him away. “You and my brother said I was fine, that all I needed was rest. Were you lying to me?”

"I wasn't lying. I just wanted to be sure. This memory thing is a bit worrying," he said. He sat down again and kept watching Sherlock closely. 

“I was hoping you could help,” Sherlock said.

"Help how?" John asked. 

“I don’t know -- one of those tricks of yours,” Sherlock said. “You occasionally have forced me to reveal things I’ve been hiding -- do one of those things.”

John blinked at him. "Okay. Finish your wine," he said, leaning back in his chair. 

Sherlock smiled. “I knew you were good for something,” he said. He ate another bite and then said, “Save room for ice cream.”

"It’s just a salad -- I'll have room for ice cream.”

Sherlock stood up and put his plate in the sink. He got the pint of ice cream out of the freezer and sat it in front of John. He grabbed a biscuit and nibbled at it.

John ate right out of the container, watching Sherlock. "Pace yourself," he teased. 

“The biscuit’s absorbing the alcohol,” Sherlock said. He stood up and turned on the kettle. “Don’t mock me anyway, I’m convalescing.”

"You've been mocking me this whole time," John said.

“All I’ve done since you arrived is enjoy your presence -- excuse me for expressing a feeling,” Sherlock said, bringing over the tea. “Let’s go outside so I can have a cigarette.”

"As your doctor I'm going to say no," he said. 

“You’re not here as my doctor,” Sherlock said. “Besides I’m the boss here since you’re the boss at the flat.”

"If you smoke I'll leave," John said. He kept eating at the ice cream. 

Sherlock pulled a face, grabbed the biscuits and tea, and headed into the sitting room. John put the ice cream in the freezer and followed him.

“Well, you’ve made it very obvious why you came here tonight,” Sherlock said.

"Why's that?" John asked. 

“Because you literally cannot bear not being in charge of me,” Sherlock said. “It’s been just over 24 hours and you couldn’t stand it anymore.”

"You're being very dramatic," John said. "I just don't want you smoking."

“See? You just can’t stop!” Sherlock said, stuffing a whole biscuit into his mouth and left the room, returning with the wine glasses and bottle. “If I can’t have cigarettes . . .” he said, pouring a little wine into each glass.

"Well, it's better than smoking," John agreed.

“Yes, the wine’s good,” Sherlock said, leaning back a bit and lifting his legs onto the table. “You didn’t say my dinner party was good. That’s rather impolite . . .” he said and then yawned.

John looked over at him. “It was a very good dinner party, Sherlock,” he said. “Small but intimate.”

“Just like you,” Sherlock said, laughing a bit at himself.


	6. John Helps

John shook his head but laughed as well. "Look, lay down here," he said, patting his thigh. "I want to try something."

“If you insist, I will get more comfortable,” Sherlock said with a smile. He turned on the sofa, dropping his legs onto John’s lap. “What are we going to try?”

"First we're going to try you turning around," he said, pushing Sherlock's legs off of him. 

“What do you mean?”

"Put your head here," he said, patting his thigh again.

Sherlock looked puzzled, but did what John said. “What are we going to try?” he asked, his voice soft.

"Close your eyes," he said softly. 

Sherlock still wasn’t sure, but he was comfortable and a little sleepy so he closed his eyes.

"Go back to that day, " John said quietly. "When you first walked in, following your lead . . ."

Sherlock realised what John was doing. He took a deep breath and tried to go into his mind. Suddenly, he could see something. “The place was empty -- no one was there,” Sherlock said. “You were right, the business was a front. I wandered around, just in case they’d left something behind.”

"And did they leave anything?"

“No, the files were empty,” Sherlock said. “Why was I still there? Why didn’t I leave?” he asked himself.

John started petting his hair very lightly. "Why didn't you leave?" 

John’s touch distracted Sherlock for a second -- it felt nice, relaxing. “I wish you had come with me,” he said. “It wouldn’t have happened.”

"What happened, Sherlock?"

“The fall . . . why didn’t I leave?” he asked again, thinking, remembering. “I thought I saw you --”

"What did you see?"

“You but when I looked again, it was . . . a woman,” he said.

"Who was it?" John asked. His fingers lightly scraped Sherlock's head.

“I don’t know -- when I realised it wasn’t you . . . I didn’t recognise her face. She turned and went into one of the offices so I followed her.”

"Why?" John asked, whispering now.

“To see who she was, why she was there,” Sherlock said. “But she wasn’t there.”

"What do you mean she wasn't there?" John asked, fingers carding through his curls. 

“No one was there,” Sherlock said. “I looked around the whole office -- even went into a room that had been ripped apart, where I fell. I was sure I’d seen someone, but . . . no one was there.”

"How did you fall?”

“The flooring was loose -- I just stepped through,” Sherlock said. 

“Why didn’t you just leave?”

“I don’t know. I know I saw someone . . . I thought maybe she had something to do with the case or . . . I don’t know why, maybe she knew you or something. It doesn’t make sense now . . . it was stupid of me. I should’ve just left.”

"You did well, Sherlock. Your brain’s all right -- you remembered what happened."

“But why would I be so stupid?”

"Not stupid, just rash," John said. "You didn't have me holding you back."

“You don’t hold me back,” Sherlock said. His eyes were still closed, and he felt quite calm and relaxed. “You help me.”

"That's what I keep telling you," John teased softly.

“You know I know it, don’t you?” Sherlock said. “You know how I feel . . .” 

"What do you mean -- how do you feel?" John asked, his eyes moving over Sherlock's face. 

“We’re a good team,” Sherlock said. “I feel like we belong together, I suppose.”

"That's awfully romantic of you," John said softly. His hand, without his really thinking about it, now traced Sherlock's jaw and neck lightly. 

“Shut up,” Sherlock said. He opened his eyes and looked up at John. “That feels nice actually,” he added softly.

John met his gaze and his fingers faltered for a moment, but then he kept going. "Yeah?"

“Don’t stop,” Sherlock said as he closed his eyes again. “You always make me feel better -- I knew I shouldn’t have gone to the hospital. I should’ve just come home with you.”

"You needed the hospital. You shouldn't have been brought here alone," he said. 

“I’m glad you’re here,” Sherlock said. “Will you stay the night?”

John thought for a moment -- he hadn’t expected to stay and didn’t have any of his things. "Yeah, I will," he said eventually. 

“Can I lie here for a few more minutes?” Sherlock asked. “I’m a little sleepy again, but I’m not ready to go to bed.”

John nodded.

Sherlock lay quietly for a few minutes. “You’ve changed everything, John,” he said sleepily.

"Shh," John said softly. 

Sherlock turned his body slightly, snuggling his head against John’s lap. The room seemed quiet, and he thought he could hear their heart beats. He slid his hand behind John’s back and held it there.

John looked down at Sherlock, his face almost pressed into John's stomach. John kept petting his hair, relaxing back against the sofa and his hand. 

Eventually Sherlock’s head lifted quickly. “I fell asleep,” he said, wiping his eyes and sitting up sharply. “Sorry about that.”

"It’s okay," John said. "How do you feel?"

“All right,” Sherlock said, stretching a little. “How are you feeling?”

"I'm okay," John said. "Fine."

“What do you want to do now?” Sherlock asked. “It’s not too late.”

John shrugged. "I should clean up, then maybe we should go to bed," he said. 

“All right,” Sherlock said. “I’m going to make a cup of tea, though. Do you want one?”

John shook his head. "No, the wine was good," he said. 

Sherlock got up and stretched before going to get a cup of tea. He washed the plates and left them in the sink to dry. He carried his tea back to the sofa and turned on the television.

John cleaned the wine glasses and put what they didn't finish in the fridge. He made his way back into the sitting room and sat on the other side of the sofa. 

“Do you care if we watch for a few minutes? You can choose something,” Sherlock said.

"I don't mind," John said, flipping through the channels. 

Sherlock took a sip of tea. “Do you want to lie down?” he asked.

He glanced at Sherlock, at his lap since that's what he intended before. "I'm not really sleepy yet. Where am I sleeping?" he asked. 

“You can have the big bed in the my parents’ room, if you want, and there are two beds in the one I’m sleeping in. You can sleep wherever you want.” He set his mug down. “I just wanted you to be comfortable since you helped me,” he added quietly. “It’s all right if you want to lie down here.”

"Oh." John shifted and, like Sherlock before, he lay with his feet on Sherlock.

“Just lie like I did, come on, John, I’m trying to be nice,” Sherlock said. “Why do you always make things so complicated?” 

John smiled and flipped around. He lay his head on Sherlock's thigh, looking up at him.

“Don’t look at me, look at the telly,” Sherlock said and put the remote in John’s hand. He picked up his mug for another drink.

John turned toward the television, holding the remote on his belly. 

Sherlock set his mug down and then tentatively started to stroke John’s hair. “This okay?” he whispered.

John swallowed hard and didn't move. "Yes."

“It’s nice,” Sherlock said quietly. He looked over at the television as his hand continued to move. He let his fingers drift down the side of John’s neck, tickling the skin there.

John smirked and tried to squirm away.

“Sorry,” Sherlock said. “Lie still.” He moved his hand down and held John’s hand that was holding the remote.

John settled again, his smile fading a bit but not disappearing. "Does my head hurt your bruising?"

“No,” Sherlock said. “I’m feeling better today.” He leaned over and turned off the lamp. “This all feels quite nice, actually,” he said.

"Okay," John said. "I just wanted to be sure."

“Do you like this?” Sherlock said. “We never did it at home.”

"It does feel good . . . do you like it?"

“I do,” Sherlock said. “I missed being away from you . . . I hadn’t expected to.”

"I missed you too," John said. "It was quiet without you."

“You’re the noisy one,” Sherlock said. “It was quiet here before you arrived.” He pinched the skin on John’s hand.

John smiled wider. "I don't know about all that."

“It was,” Sherlock said. “I missed your voice.”

"Nagging?"

“Maybe,” Sherlock said.

"I don't think you missed that."

“Nagging is who you are,” Sherlock said. “I reluctantly accept that.”

"That's not all I am," he said. 

“Indeed it is not,” Sherlock said. “You are many things.”

"Hmm, like what?" he asked. 

“Well, in addition to being a nag, you’re my blogger, my flatmate, my doctor, my cook, my conscience, and my friend.”

"That's quite a lot of things," he said. 

“I hadn’t expected all that, if I’m honest,” Sherlock admitted.

"I didn't expect a lot of things when I moved in with you."

“And what about this . . . cuddling or whatever you’d call it? Did you expect this?”

"No, I didn't," John said. "Did you?"

“Obviously not,” Sherlock said. “I never think about this kind of thing.”

"What are you thinking about now?"

“Lying by you on the bed,” Sherlock confessed.


	7. More

"On the bed?" John asked.

“Yes,” Sherlock said. “You asked what I was thinking about so I said the truth.”

"You're thinking of us in the same bed?"

“Yes. We don’t have to obviously. I was just imagining it.”

"Are you ready to go to sleep? You should be comfortable."

“I’m comfortable here,” Sherlock said.

"Okay. Me too," John said. He wasn’t quite sure what Sherlock meant, but it seemed to have passed.

“Good,” Sherlock said. He pushed the remote out of John’s hand and then laced their fingers together. He turned his focus to the television, though he was still thinking of them lying next to each other when they went to bed.

Once the show ended, Sherlock let go of John’s hand and grabbed the remote. “Do you want to watch something else?” he asked, making a little yawn. “I think I might be done with it for the night.”

John shook his head. "We should go to bed," he said, pushing himself to sit up. 

Sherlock stood up and stretched. “You still all right staying the night -- I can get you a taxi home if you prefer,” he said.

John shook his head. He stretched before standing up as well. "I'll stay here. Just show me my room, or bed or whatever," he said. 

“Do you want to sleep in my parents’ room or in the room with me?”

"Um . . . in the room with you, I think," he said.

Sherlock looked over at John. He was so glad he was here. He leaned over and kissed his mouth softly. “Sorry,” he said, but didn’t step away.

John's body flooded with heat, and he knew exactly what was happening. "Why?" he asked, leaning in to kiss Sherlock again. 

Sherlock slipped his arms around John’s lower back, pulling him closer as he melted into the kiss. John brought his hand up into Sherlock's hair, and Sherlock made a soft moan and then began to pull John toward the bedroom. When they got into the room, he turned and leaned back, pulling them both onto the bed. John tangled their legs in his attempt to get closer, licking into his mouth to deepen the kiss. 

“I like this,” Sherlock said stupidly in between kisses.

"Me too," John said, kissing along his jaw and down his neck now. 

“God,” Sherlock exhaled. It’d been so long since he had this feeling, and he wanted to savor it completed. He let John’s mouth explore the skin of his neck and then said, “Can I take off my shirt?”

John nodded. 

Sherlock lifted himself off the bed, taking his shirt off and throwing it to the ground. He lay back down and reached to pull John on top of him.

John moved over Sherlock but paused when he saw the bruises. "I don't -- let me get next to you," he said, moving to get off. 

“We don’t have to do any of this,” Sherlock said quickly.

"No, it’s just -- you're hurt, I don't want to make it worse.”

Sherlock turned on his side to face John. “You make things better,” he said and then leaned in to kiss him again.

John kissed him more enthusiastically, his hand in his curls again. Sherlock lifted his hands to John’s head, tipping it to deepen the kiss. A small moan escaped his lips as his body slid closer to John’s.

He lifted one of his legs over John’s, arching slightly. “It feels good,” he mumbled, dropping a hand to John’s lower back.

"I need to take something off . . . I want to feel more," John said breathlessly. 

Sherlock nodded, pulling on John’s shirt and then stopping and letting John do it. He watched him for a minute and then started to take off his own trousers. John pushed his trousers off as well, his eyes moving over Sherlock's body. 

“You look . . . “ Sherlock started to say but then reached over and pulled John close. His hands moved up and down John’s back, feeling the muscles he always knew were there but had never touched before. John arched forward so their bodies touched as they kissed. 

“Can I touch you?” Sherlock whispered.

"Anything you want," John said.

Sherlock put space between them and reached down, sliding his hand into John’s boxers. He wrapped his fingers around John’s hardening cock. He looked up and kissed his mouth roughly. 

John bucked into his hand, pushing his boxers down and out of the way. "Oh God..." he sighed. 

John’s noises went straight to Sherlock’s cock and he began to rock his hips into John’s hand. “God, that feels good,” he moaned loudly.

John nodded, kissing over his shoulder and biting softly.

Sherlock’s hand sped up on John. He started letting himself go -- his breath was rough, his hips thrusting. “I’m going to explode . . . oh god,” he cried and then came, spilling over John’s hand. He tried to keep his hand moving on John as his orgasm moved through his aching body.

John gasped softly as he watched Sherlock lost in pleasure. He moved his hand to cover Sherlock's on his own cock, helping to get himself there as well. He groaned Sherlock's name as he came between them as well. 

Sherlock watched John let go. Then he pressed his face against the pillow as he tried to catch his breath. He felt drained of all energy.

John rolled onto his back as he tried to catch his breath. He couldn't believe they had done this. 

“I don’t regret it,” Sherlock mumbled against the pillow. “I hope you don’t either.”

"Not at all," John murmured, turning his head to face him. He smiled softly. 

Sherlock smiled back. “I’m extremely sleepy,” he said. “But we need to clean up.” He leaned over and grabbed his shirt from the floor. “You can sleep in my bed or in this one with me if you’d like.”

"I'll sleep here with you." He grinned suddenly as he used his own undershirt to clean up. "Wait until Mycroft finds out what we did in his bed."

Sherlock laughed out loud. “That makes it even better,” he said. He stretched a little and then moved closer to the wall to give John more room. “If you need anything during the night, wake me up or just go get it yourself, okay?”

John scooted closer to him. "Do you mind?" he asked, cuddling against Sherlock. 

“I don’t mind,” Sherlock said, wrapping an arm around John’s body. “Nice . . . this whole evening’s been nice.”

John nodded, closing his eyes. "Yeah," he said. "So good."

Sherlock closed his eyes. Before drifting off to sleep, he knew that he would never feel this safe without John close to him.

In the morning, Sherlock rolled over and saw John beside him. He lifted his hand to his head -- it hurt again. When he shifted his body, his body hurt again. “John,” he said. “Are you awake?”

John hummed sleepily but didn't open his eyes yet, shifting on the bed. 

Sherlock grumbled. “At least let me up,” he said. “I need the toilet -- I don’t feel well.”

John's eyes snapped open. "What's wrong?" he asked, shifting to get out of his way. 

“My head hurts,” Sherlock said. “I need a glass of water maybe.”

"I'll get it," John said, stretching before walking out of the room without even putting his clothes on. He didn't even think about it until he was coming back into the room again. 

Sherlock took the glass and drank it all down in one gulp. He rubbed his head and then lay back down. “Why are you nude?” he asked. He lifted the sheet. “Why am I nude?”

John blinked at him. "I . . . from last night," he said. 

Sherlock rubbed his head again. “I don’t remember . . .” he said quietly. “I can remember watching television . . . but I can’t remember anything after that.”


	8. Sherlock's Memory

John flushed, grabbed his pants quickly to put them on. "Last night we . . . you don't remember anything?" he asked. 

“No,” Sherlock said. “Can you help?” He pulled the sheet back. “Lie down and help me.”

"What?" John moved towards the bed and sat on the edge. "How is that going to help? I can tell you what happened." John was panicking a bit. What if Sherlock regretted what had happened?

“No -- I want to do what we did last night on the sofa,” Sherlock said, with a soft smile. “Please . . .”

“I thought --” John started and then looked over at him smiling. He nodded, moving back to lean on the pillow against the headboard. "Okay," he said and patted his thigh. 

Sherlock lay down, resting on John’s lap. “Do the hair thing,” he whispered.

John started petting his hair. "Like this?"

“That’s it . . . it’s helping already,” Sherlock said. “Help me remember last night.”

John kept petting his hair. "We were sitting on the couch, close together . . ."

“You looked more handsome than usual . . . I think because I missed you. . .” Sherlock said. He closed his eyes as he remembered. “Then you helped me . . . you always help me and that’s why I need you around me all the time.”

"Yeah? I like helping you," he said.

“When you were helping me, you were touching me and it made me think . . . that I liked it. I liked you touching me . . . and I wanted to touch you too.”

"Yeah . . . you did eventually," John said.

“I liked it . . . that’s why I wanted to kiss you,” Sherlock said. “And touch you more . . . I liked it all. Did you?”

"I liked everything," John asked. “You did kiss me . . . do you remember?”

“Yes,” Sherlock said. “Sorry, I lied a little -- I remember everything actually and I liked it all.”

John smiled softly as he kept petting Sherlock's hair. "Why are you always so mean to me?" he teased. 

“I have no memory of ever treating you poorly,” Sherlock said, opening one eye to peek up at John.

"I'm not falling for that again," he smiled wider. 

“I’m not interested in your helping me remind me on that account,” Sherlock said. He lay quietly with his eyes closed for a few moments. “Do you think we will do things like that again or was it just a one-off because you felt bad for me?” he asked quietly.

John laughed softly. "I don't want this to be just a one time thing. I'd like this to be how we are now."

“I would as well,” Sherlock said. “I don’t think my brother will like it, but I have a feeling Mrs Hudson will be pleased.”

"She's going to be very smug," John said. "She'll take care of your brother for us."

Sherlock dipped his head in a little nod. “Are we going to go home today or shall we stay here forever?” he asked.

"I think we can sneak you out."

Sherlock opened his eyes. “Should we just tell him?” he asked. “I’m not a child.”

"We could. But then we'll have to deal with him," he said.

“We’ll always have to deal with him,” Sherlock said. “I don’t need him to take care of me. I . . . I can do better and maybe you can help me.”

John nodded. 

“And I can take care of you, too.”

"Yeah?" John asked, smiling softly. 

“Yes,” Sherlock said. “I promise to try.”

“We’ll take care of each other,” John said, leaning down and giving him a kiss.


End file.
